The Note
by introducing-prologue
Summary: Draco is tired of living behind a guise of hate and loathing toward everyone, especially Harry. He wants to be true to his feelings and ditch the Slytheirn guise, but when Draco is ordered to help murder Harry, Draco can’t decide upon whether to ruin the
1. Chapter 1

"Harry, I want to tell you something. I need to speak with you," 

"_Malfoy, why would you ever want to talk to me!"_

_Harry scowled as Draco looked down at his shoes in guilt. _

"_Please, just one moment,"_

_Ron and Hermione gazed quizzically at the two boys and sensing a bond, a rugged connection, they stepped back and allowed nature to continue its normal cycle. Draco quietly pulled Harry aside with a firm hand on his shoulder and looked hard into Harry's peculiar bottle green eyes. Draco's hand went limp from anxiety and it fell casually to his side, slightly brushing Harry's fingertips. _

"_Harry, I know we've been…enemies,"_

_Harry nodded with solemn agreement, engaged. _

"_But I just can't take the fighting any more. Not with you. I hate seeing you loathe me from every angle, every minute of every day you despise me and I can feel it. It was all my fault from the beginning, and,"_

"_What are you saying, Draco?" Harry face was firm, expressionless, in the neutral position, waiting for Draco to continue. But to continue would be suicide. _

"_Harry, I…"_

"_Yes?"_

"_I just,"_

"_Yes!"_

"_I, er, never mind it,"_

_Harry frowned. Ron and Hermione glanced uneasily at Draco's next move._

"_No, just forget it Potter. Forget it, I'll tell you later,"_

"_Fine," said Harry stiffly, obviously expecting something that obviously wasn't going to come. _

Draco stepped back with apprehension, his expression telling Harry he was through. His expression told Harry that he was satisfied with Harry's bewilderment, but in his heart he was hardly finished. Draco longed to share the truth from the very day he met—

"Move along Draco, your fat arse is filling up the door!" Harry stared angrily at the blonde, fumbling to keep hold of his luggage. Draco sighed. _Even in my daydreams I can never catch him._

"Excuse _me_, Potter, if my arse isn't pleasing you enough," Draco glanced at his baggage.

"You might want to keep better hold of your luggage, Potter, it might run away,"

With that, Draco kicked the suitcase Harry was dragging, toppling it down the steps of the train.

"You bloody bastard, I will cut—" shouted Ron as Harry scurried after his bag.

"Stop. It. RON," scowled Hermione, pushing Ron and Draco out of the way as Harry quickly followed suit. Malfoy bowed with a dramatic hand to Ron.

"My father it is respectful to let the less fortunate ones board a vehicle first," said Draco coolly, the slimy words just slipping off his tongue.

"Fucking—"

"RON! Just board, forget the slimy tosser, he'll just humiliate you more" cautioned Hermione as Ron with a bowed head muttered furiously to himself, dragging a duffle bag behind him in defeat. 

"There's a good lad," said Draco as Ron heaved his bag through the door.

"You shut your fucking gob, you!"

"Naughty words, Ron. Don't think your mother would want to hear them,"

"One more word about my mum,"

"RON!" shouted Harry, "Forget him and come on! The seats are filling up!"

Ron jumped inside and followed Harry into a small compartment as Draco found a seat in the compartment across. Draco sat wearily on the cushioned seats, stretching his arms and releasing tension and stress. He wanted to float back into his imaginary setting, he wanted to see the joy and relief and lust on Harry's face, as if he too wanted what he too couldn't have. He imagined Harry's lips, wet and soft and longing, touch his own lips in a grasp of settlement, in a treaty to end all the fights and all the nights wasted dreaming away into the darkness. In sum, Draco wanted Harry. He was going to get Harry, whether magic was involved or not. He knew that love potions weren't allowed at the school, he found that out the hard way. Perhaps he could send an owl, asking to put all the hate behind him…No. There was no obscure chance, even a remote one that Harry and he would ever be friends, forget ever being a pair, not with Harry's friends, not with the reputation of Slytherin and his father, and certainly not with the Dark Lord watching. Someone would discover them together, someone would talk, and to keep he and Harry unknown they would have to continue to fight amongst themselves yet again and again as if love never struck…almost like a Catch 22. There was no way out of this circle of love and hate, not unless Draco and Harry were willing to sacrifice everything to be with each other.


	2. Chapter 2

"Draco…I had no idea this was how you felt about me…no idea," 

_Harry smiled shyly, placing his hand in Draco's._

"_I'm sorry, this was so spontaneous…I hadn't planned talking to you now, I just needed to tell you—"_

_Harry placed a gentle hand on Draco's cheek._

"_Sshh…don't say I word. I understand,"_

"_But you do like me—"_

"_Sshhhh, just trust me…"_

_Harry leaned in slowly as Draco shifted his feet and placed his arms around Harry's shoulders._

"_Just trust me…"_

"Draco, you look pale," said Crabbe, placing a firm hand on Draco's forehead, checking the temperature. Draco brushed it away harshly.

"Get your hand off my head, silly oaf," said Draco with more sourness in his voice then intended. Crabbe shuffled his feet.

"You were staring off into space, mate, I got a tad worried and your face was turning pale and—"

"Tell it to me later,"

"Right, course, will do!"

"I didn't mean that,"

"Right."

Draco heaved himself up from the Slytherin table in the Great Hall and rested his head on his palm. He didn't care if it was the welcoming feast. Draco could care less what time it was. He stood slowly, breathing heavily.

I need rest.

Draco gazed distantly at the Gryfindor table, young and new wizards filling their stomachs with rich food, their faces flushed and red from the excitement and the anxiety of joining Hogwarts.

I remember when I too was that young… that ignorant.

He scooped himself a large amount of mashed potatoes, as his gaze drifted eagerly to a familiar face sitting across the room. Draco sat back and sighed. Just sighed, not romantically or sadly, he just gave his lungs a sufficient sum of oxygen. Across the hall, Harry smiled and chortled with his friends, drinking and feasting, like Hogwarts was his home and pride and joy.

Ironically, it is his home. I'd die to have a home so welcoming. So jovial, so—

"Are really gonna eat that much?" asked Goyle, pointing at the mound of potatoes on Draco's plate. Lost in thought, Draco had drowned his golden platter in golden, buttery goodness.

"No, you twit. You can eat it,"

"Excellent," said Goyle gleefully and grabbed his spoon. Draco looked back across the hall. He caught Harry's eye, as Harry frowned in his direction.

"I hate you," Harry mouthed.

I want you. And god damn I need you. What about you, Harry? Do you crave my as well?

Draco knew the answer to that question without a moments' thought. Draco loathed the answer, the harsh truth,

Things can't get worse.

Draco was horribly mistaken.


End file.
